


Gimme Some Sugar, Daddy

by TheFaceofaMouse



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, PWP without Porn, Shower Sex, Teasing, golddigger! Jean, kind of, okay now there's porn, sugardaddy! Marco, there's not much porn in it really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:05:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1200535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFaceofaMouse/pseuds/TheFaceofaMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being surrounded by wealth and luxury was something Jean was vicariously used to.  He never owned nice rich things himself, but he always seemed to be in situations and circumstances that permitted it.  This life style suited him, and he was tough enough to deal with the dickwad jerks who usually provided it for him.  But this guy was different.  Very different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Nicest Rich Asshole

**Author's Note:**

> self-indulgent drabble I wrote to go with my own stupid art (http://thisismouseface.tumblr.com/post/76945012454/goldigger-jean-and-fuckin-sugardaddy-marco-okay)
> 
> YES I AM ACCEPTING THE AWARD FOR THE WORST/CHEESIEST TITLE EVER THANK YOU <3

Jean thought he was on top of his game.  He was certain he was playing this multimillion-dollar mogul, a Mr. Marco Bodt, for a sap, but there was something amiss…

 

_This guy was way too nice._

Jean met the affluent stud at studio party in West Hollywood.  It was at a super exclusive recording studio, and the only reason Jean was able to get in the doors was because he was a friend of the owner’s son.  Well, more like he _knew_ the owner’s son.  Knew him well enough to get inside and poke around.  Jean went to the party with the master plan of buddying up with some of the music-industry notables that were attending and giving out his demo, but his mission was side tracked the moment he saw Mr. tall, dark and handsome standing at the edge of the bar in what was at least a 3,000-dollar suit and giving a million-dollar smile.   This guy looked loaded, and Jean had set his hunter’s mark. 

 

 _I’m gonna fuck that,_ Jean thought.  Normally he would need to get close enough (and tipsy enough) to chat with his soon-to-be sugar daddy and test the waters.  Jean’s gaydar was pretty spot on, but there were times where he confused flashy affluence with flamboyance.  But not this time.  No, this guy was definitely his for the taking.  Every woman who was trying to flirt him was visibly disappointed at how amiable he was, whereas he was giving a different vibe to the guys.  _Mine,_ Jean thought. _Mine mine mine._

After a few drinks, Jean was able to strike conversation, and good fucking _lord_ this guy was even better looking up close.  His face was splattered with freckles like a Pollock painting, and his teeth were perfect and he smelled like cinnamon _._ His eyes were a dark brown like decadent chocolate truffles.  His voice was light, but not too airy, and Jean knew that if given the opportunity, he would listen to this man speak all night long.

 

All right, so let’s make one thing clear: Jean Kirschtein has been infatuated before, but he’s never been “swept off his feet,” as it were. He’s never been so enamored by someone’s charm that he can barely get through a conversation without relying on the crutch of alcohol to ease his nerves.  This man, who’s name he soon learned, was Marco Bodt, had shown up in his life and swept him off his feet unlike anything he ever experienced before. 

 

No literally, somehow one thing led to another, and Jean bet the millionaire that he couldn’t “carry the weight of a deadbeat like himself” and low and behold, the guy picks Jean up bridal style and earns a few cheers from onlookers.  _I’ve got this guy in the bag,_ thought Jean.  After this much casual flirting and mutual interest, Jean figured his night was _set._

 

Music soon entered the discussion, and when they began discussing the importance of vinyl records, Marco insisted that Jean come back to his penthouse (yeah he would have a fucking penthouse) and listen to a “proper auditory experience” as Marco referred to it.  God, this guy was too fucking much, but things were going much easier than expected.  Jean usually would have to wait at least until the first coffee date before he could get a house invite.  This was way better.  Before long, they couldn’t possibly be any more obvious with their flirting.  They bid the fancy shindig adieu and hitched an Uber cab to Marco’s, Jean holding onto the millionaire’s arm like his prom date.

 

Once inside, Jean was in utter shock at how immaculate this place was.  It was a huge house up in the Hollywood hills, but according to Marco, it was really only designed for a couple.

 

“I know it seems big, but the second you get more than two people in here, everyone starts to get in each other’s way,” he was saying, pouring them more drinks from his mini bar. 

 

“Tsh, if my place were even _half_ this size, I’d be happy,” Jean replied.  He felt almost guilty walking around the completely white carpet in his loafing, grungy Doc Martens, but Marco didn’t seem to fuss about him removing his shoes or anything.  In fact, he was quite inviting and welcoming despite the wealth of this place.

 

“Care for a fire?” Marco asked as he brought Jean his drink.  He was still dressed to the nines, and Jean was hoping that wouldn’t be the case soon.

 

“Sure,” Jean took the drink and sat on the couch, which was also white. Everything in this place was white.  The walls, the carpets, the furniture.  Even the decorations like the vase of flowers on the kitchen table and the paintings on the walls. White white white.

 

“You sure like white,” Jean remarked.

 

“It’s a good base color,” Marco conversed as he worked with the gas switch to the fireplace.  “I like to decorate around the holidays, and I don’t want a lot of colorful, noisy furniture distracting from my Christmas or Halloween decorations.  White is like having an empty canvas.”

 

Jean laughed.  Was this guy for real?

 

“Wow.  You decorate.  You run a business.  You buy and sell real estate.  You collect vinyl records.  Is there anything you _don’t_ do, Mr. Bodt?” Jean asked, a sly grin appearing on his face.

 

“I don’t clean,” Marco admitted with a little guilt.  “Bless my house keeper.  She’s an absolute doll.”  The millionaire rose from the now low-burning fire-place, crossing over to join Jean on the couch.  “And I don’t smoke.”

 

“Don’t smoke anything, or just cigarettes?” Jean inquired.

 

“That’s a secret,” Marco grinned, and Jean had to bite his lip.  _Fuck he’s cute._ He’s playing the mysterious routine.  

 

“Anything else you don’t do?”

 

Marco stirred his drink in its glass, looking at it thoughtfully before fixing his those round, chocolate eyes on Jean once again.

 

“I don’t kiss and tell,” he responded, taking a sip from his drink.  Jean caught the velvet inflection of Marco’s voice, and Jean was more than ready for the next octave of their evening. 

 

“You saying you’re gonna be kissing someone soon? Or that you have kissed someone and aren’t gonna tell me?” Jean was unconsciously leaning closer, resting his cheek in his hand.  He was _melting_ into goo right on Marco’s couch.

 

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Marco smiled sweetly.  Radiohead’s _Everything In It’s Right Place_ reverberated through the living room at a reasonable volume, and the backdrop of the city below them twinkled through massive living room windows.  If Jean didn’t know any better, he would think he died and went to heaven.  Being surrounded by wealth and luxury was something Jean was vicariously used to.  He never owned nice rich things himself, but he always seemed to be in situations and circumstances that permitted it.  This life style suited him, and he was tough enough to deal with the dickwad jerks who usually provided it for him.  But this guy was different.  Very different. 

 

“All right,” Jean stated suddenly, “what’s your deal.  Getting into your pad shouldn’t be this easy, and I’m 80% sure were gonna fuck soon, so spill it.”

 

“Only 80%?” Marco tilted his head coyly, and Jean nearly turned into a beet from blushing so hard.  “I thought I was being pretty inviting.”

 

“I—well, you are.  You’ve been super inviting! And nice, and awesome. And that’s the problem.  Usually you rich assholes are really… I dunno… protective.  You don’t let people in so fast.  You don’t want dead beats like me touching your shit, and you don’t sleep with us until we’re properly _groomed.”_   Jean rolled his eyes at that last part.  He was recalling a few unsavory memories he’s had with past sugar-daddies.  One guy wouldn’t sleep him until Jean had a full spa day complete with a manicure and hair-cut to really _clean him up._ Jean loved being spoiled, but he didn’t like being made to feel like he was some filthy low-life in need of grooming. 

 

“I take it you do this a lot?”

 

“Do what?” Jean asked, nervous.

 

“Sleep with rich assholes.”

 

_Fuck._

 

“….you see right through me, don’t you.”  It was more of a statement than a question on Jean’s part.  Thankfully, Marco wasn’t being condescending or snarky.  He just smiled graciously and continued sipping his drink.  His posture was relaxed and stoic, and he seemed entirely unfazed by the whole situation.

 

“I can piece a puzzle together.  I’m attractive, I know that, but people aren’t lining up to get in my bed from just my looks.  It just something you get used to when you’re…well.”  Marco gestured to their surroundings, and Jean felt a pang of guilt in his gut.  He didn’t speak for a while.  He held his tongue in awkward silence, but Marco didn’t seem to be affected at all.  He just listened gleefully to the electronic tones from his record, smiling with his eyes closed.

 

“Marco, I don’t want to—“ Jean started, but he didn’t really know what he was trying to say.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Jean.  I wasn’t trying to guilt trip you.  You’re not taking advantage of me, if that’s what you were going to say.”

 

Jean shook his head in a “no” gesture. 

 

“And I really hope I’m not taking advantage of you by bringing you here and filling you with _more_ alcohol,” Marco furrowed an eyebrow. 

 

Jean shook his head again. 

 

“Wonderful.  Then just relax and enjoy yourself, hon. This is the good life after all, isn’t it?” Marco raised his glass for a toast, and Jean obliged.  They toasted, and afterward rested their glasses on the coffee table.

 

“Marco, you’re the nicest rich asshole I’ve ever tried to get in bed with.”  Jean admitted, and Marco chuckled.

 

“You haven’t seen what I’m like in bed yet,” Marco warned, and his voice suddenly switched from being lighthearted and cheerful to dark and seductive, and Jean had to hold back a whimper.  He swallowed hard, and began to chew at his lip some more, which seemed to be his new favorite past time.

 

 “Hey, don’t chew those lips off before I get some,” Marco said, still using that dark, velvety voice that just rolled into Jean’s ears, down his spine and into his groin where he felt a growing desperation.  Marco slid a little closer, eyeing Jean’s lips.  “I’ve never kissed someone with lip piercings.  Do they get in the way?”

 

Jean wanted to ask “why don’t you find out,” but he instead just sort of squeaked and gave a breathy sigh, and Marco chuckled, bringing a hand up to caress Jean’s cheek and eye his lips once more.

 

“I guess I’ll have to find out,” Marco said, and thank god he said it for him because Jean wasn’t going to last another second without crashing into Marco’s lips.  The older man brought Jean close to his mouth and lingered for just half a second too long, really drawing out the anticipation.  Then, finally, with most self-contained stoicism on his part, Marco unified their lips, and Jean had to catch his breath.

 

Jean’s met some fantastic kissers in his day, but Marco? He was untouchable on the scoreboard.

 

Jean was tentative about getting his hands involved too soon, but Marco was already leading the way, pulling Jean closer and mapping out his shoulders and collarbone with his hands.  Jean followed suit, touching him back and trying his absolute damnedest not to be too grabby.  The restraint didn’t last long on either part, and soon enough they were gasping and moaning into each other’s mouths, writhing against each other.  Jean was mentally cursing the tightness of his pants, because frankly they were the only things really ruining this moment for him, but Marco made that irritation of thing of the past.  After teasing him and palming at him through the fabric, Marco unbuttoned Jean’s pants.  _Just_ before he could grab him and start properly doting on his dick with the attention it desperately needed, Marco pulled away, unbuttoning his shirt. 

 

“Do you mind?”  Marco asked, almost out of breath.

 

“Mind what?”

 

Marco nodded towards the giant, open windows of the living room.  Marco’s closest neighbor was still quite a distance away, but their proclivities certainly wouldn’t go unnoticed if anyone were taking a gander off their balcony.

 

“No,” Jean grinned, and his fingers quickly got to work unbuttoning Marco’s suit jacket.

 

Without any further hindrances, Jean soon learned a _lot_ more about the ever-surprising Marco Bodt. By now Jean had enough respect for the guy to know that if he himself didn’t kiss and tell, well then he was going to do the same for him.

 

But he’ll give you these hints;

 

-       Marco was wrong about implying he was anything but nice in bed.  (This guy gave new meaning to the term “body worship.”) 

-       He was loud.

-       He had a lot of stamina

-       He was well enough endowed to make Jean reconsider saying yes to anal, (that was before hand, though.  During and after the fact, Jean’s standards for good cock were substantially raised.)

-       He was a post-coital cuddler.

 

They eventually migrated to the bedroom, and Jean was entirely fucked-out and was dozing off in Marco’s arms, feeling entirely satisfied.  Marco kissed his hairline, which was a little too tender for Jean’s taste, but he let it slide.  He liked this guy a lot, and if cuddling and tender loving was his forte, who was Jean to deny it.

 

“You going to stick around?”  Marco asked, his voice quiet.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Even if I wanted to leave, I don’t think I could move,” Jean held on tighter, and Marco returned the gesture.

 

“Good.  I’m not done spoiling you yet, and if you don’t have anything planned for tomorrow, I was hoping you’d spend the day with me?”

 

Jean was too tired to physically express his excitement and enthusiasm, but he was internally screaming.

 

“You are too good to be true, do you know that,” was Jean’s only response.  He couldn’t even open his eyes.  Marco chuckled and planted another kiss on Jean, this time on his lips. 

 

“I know,” he mused softly.  With that, he turned off the light by the switch next to the bed, and they were _out._

 

 


	2. Marco Are You Even Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean worries he might like Marco a little more than he likes his money.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of domestic fluffy gush. Nothing terribly conflicting or plot driven here. I wasn't expecting to go anywhere with this, yet here I am ahahaaha

            The next morning, Jean awoke to the glorious smell of coffee and the feel of a warm, smooth body next to him.  As his eyes tentatively peeled open, his vision focused on the man who had fucked his brains out the night prior.  He was sitting up with a mug in one hand and his iPad in the other.  He was wearing a pair of reading glasses, and Jean’s first thought was wow, this guy needs glasses? What an old geezer. The next thought that soon followed was _god this guy looks fucking hot in glasses._

            “Good morning,” Marco said, and not in that annoying, overly-chipper tone that morning people have.  He sounded like he was genuinely wishing Jean a good morning.  Jean would smile if he weren’t still so fucking _tired._ He just groaned a bit and nuzzled into Marco’s shoulder, trying to hide from the light that was intensified by the white décor of the room.  Marco chuckled at him.

            “Would you like to sleep a little longer?”  Marco looked on Jean with soft fascination, and Jean could feel it.  He shook his head, arching his back into a stretch.

            “What time is it?”  Jean croaked.

            “9:40.  I don’t mind if you need more sleep.” 

            “Nah, it’s fine,” Jean spoke through a yawn, and Marco laughed at the ridiculous sound of his voice.  “Shut up,” Jean groaned as he perched his chin on Marco’s arm. “What you doing there?”

            “Making reservations.  Which reminds me – do you have any plans for dinner tonight? I know I already asked you to spend the day with me, but the place I want to take you to doesn’t serve until after 5.  But I don’t want to keep you if you’re tired of me.”  Marco’s voice sounded apologetic, and Jean looked up at him from under his eyelashes.

            “You mean you want to drag me to a fancy dinner? God, I _guess_ I’ll stick around.”  Jean said, utilizing his sarcastic tone he perfected back in college.

            “Don’t make me force you to stay,” Marco said in the same, sultry voice he used all last night. 

            “I’d like to see you try,” Jean chimed, eyes half-lidded. Marco decided to put his coffee and his iPad on the night stand next to him, as well as remove his glasses before rolling on his side to give Jean his undivided attention.

            “If that’s the case, I could just tie you to this bed and keep you here as long as I like,” Marco mused as Jean scooted closer, draping his arms over his hunky man-toy.  Jesus Christ he had barely just gotten up and Marco was dirty talking him.  _I could get used to waking up like this,_ Jean thought. 

            “I hope tying me to the bed is on your little agenda for us today, Bodt,” Jean growled, and pulled Marco into a kiss.  Marco tasted like coffee, and Jean was certain he tasted like gross morning breath, but the wealthy man didn’t seem to give a damn.  He kissed him just as hungrily as he did last night.

            “Mmm. We’ll just have to see,” Marco said, wrapping his leg around Jean’s waist and pushing their bodies together, but a timid knock came at his door.  Jean stirred, but Marco eased away calmly.  “Ah, that would be Christa,” Marco informed Jean, who he could see was startled by the presence of another person in the house.  “Yes?” he called to the door.

            “I have the clean robes you asked for,” replied a sweet, delicate voice from the other side of the door.  “Should I just leave them by the door?” It sounded like this girl knew her boss was a little busy.

            “Yes, please.  Thank you, sweetheart.” He responded, and after it seemed safe to resume, Marco looked back over to Jean, who looked like an embarrassed child.  He was blushing and nibbling his knuckle.

            “I forgot you had a house keeper,” Jean said.

            “Yeah, sorry about that,” Marco laughed weakly.  “Don’t worry. She’ll steer clear.  She knows I have company over.  I told her when I went downstairs.  You don’t have to act like your mom just walked in on you,” Marco teased.  Jean shoved at him gently, cracking a smile.

            “Fuck off.  I just wasn’t expecting that.”  Jean wasn’t relaxed yet, but he could see Marco was intent on getting some morning action.

            “Aw, don’t be embarrassed, Jean.  Here, I’ll make it better…”

            And _boy_ was Marco a man of his word.  Jean wasn’t sure how his body still managed to react to every pass Marco made over him, but each bit of contact sent jolts of electricity through his senses, and he was just as hot and flustered and _desperate_ for this man as he was last night. 

            After fooling around for a good while, taking care not to tire themselves out _too_ early in the day, Marco offered Jean access to his shower or bath, whichever he preferred.  The wealthy man said that he had something to take care of while Jean bathed, and left Jean to upstairs to his own devices.

            Jean grabbed the clean, folded bathrobe from the floor outside the door and headed for the shower.  It was a pretty snazzy set up.  The shower nozzle hung directly overhead, and it was large enough to comfortably cover Jean’s entire body in hot, clean water, unlike his own shower back at home that sprayed with about as much force as an old dog pissing on your leg. The piping for this place promised to be reliable, too.  He was excited by the simple prospect of a consistent temperature from the shower.  Sometimes you just gotta appreciate the little things.  Like hot water.

            And designer shampoos.

            And dark-marble walls.

            And additional hand-held shower heads with “massager” functions.

            And – wow, are those speakers on the ceiling?? Fuck that’s awesome.

 

            Okay, sometimes you also gotta appreciate the filthy stinking rich things in life, too.

 

            Jean turned on the water, and it was heated up to a satisfactory temperature within moments.  He stepped inside and sighed blissfully.  _Lovely._ He saw a poorly organized collection of fancy soaps and shampoos on the bench.  Most of them were almost empty or not even closed properly, and Jean had to smile.  Marco may be rich, but that doesn’t mean he’s above being the bachelor type who can’t even take care of his shower products.  Jean perused the selection, opting for the name brand Bvalgari shampoo and conditioner since it was probably the best because, you know, name brand and all.  It smelled the strongest too, which sort of regretted after the fact.  Marco would definitely smell it on him.  He hoped his sugar-daddy wouldn’t mind, and kind of knew that he wouldn’t.

            Jean didn’t rush his shower by any means.  He made sure to use a variety of the soaps he found on the bench, and even some strange face cleanser from a brand he had never even heard of.  It tingled his cheeks, and he sort of got the feeling he used too much.  Oh well.  It’s not like Marco couldn’t afford _more._

            He finished up, dried off, and rummaged around the drawers until he found a hairdryer.  Half of him was surprised Marco even owned one, seeing as how his hair was quite short, but the other half should’ve expected it.  Even the damn hair dryer was salon quality, probably costing somewhere upwards of 100 bucks.  Jean swore it was the best hair dryer he’d ever used, but sometimes just knowing the price of something makes your experience with it a little biased, for better or for worse.

            “Knock knock,” came Marco’s voice from the other side of the door.  He had to shout over the sound of the hairdryer until Jean turned it off. “Can I come in?”

            “Yeah,” Jean replied, tying off his robe to make himself decent. Man, this thing was soft…

            “Have a nice shower?” Marco stepped inside.  He was dressed in dark slacks and a black button down with the sleeves rolled up.  His long legs carried him gracefully across the marble floor, which was just something Jean had to note mentally.  Legs like that are distracting.  It should be illegal to have long, mesmerizing, graceful legs like that.

            “Y-yeah.  Your water pressure is _amazing._ ”  Jean grabbed for the hairdryer and held it up. “Hope it’s okay if I use this?”

            “Of course.  Like I said, make yourself comfortable.”  Marco reached into a drawer beside Jean and pulled out a dark blue little bottle.  He spritzed his wrist with one douse of cologne and proceeded to coat his neck.  There was that oaky, cinnamon smell he wore last night, and Jean breathed in the pleasing scent.  After checking his hair briefly in the mirror, Marco crossed back over to the door, touching Jean’s back lightly as he passed. “Oh,” he stopped in the doorframe. “Do you take coffee in the morning?”

            “ _Yes_ ,” Jean was beginning to think Marco would never offer.

            “Cream and sugar?”

            “Please.”

            “Okay.  Meet me downstairs when you’re all done.”  Marco smiled before shutting the door behind him.  Jean found himself wishing Marco had more to do in the bathroom just so he could watch him go about his routine some more, but this was good motivation for him hurry the hell up.

            As he entered the bedroom he realized that he was going to have to go down stairs to retrieve his clothes, which, if he recalled correctly, were scattered all-the-fuck-over the living room floor.  He was about to turn to leave, but a perfectly folded pile of his personal affects at the edge of Marco’s bed caught his eye.  The bed was made, too.  Man, this house-keeper chick was _good._  She must’ve gotten here early in the morning because his clothes were already washed and dried.  _Awesome._  He got dressed, forgoing his hat from the night before and using some of Marco’s styling paste (he must’ve left it out from the night before) and made his way downstairs.

 

            Jean was in a bit of a quandary, to be honest.  Jean hated the term “gold digger,” but it was the only accurate description for the life style he led.  The thing about being a gold digger is that you aren’t supposed to be readily available for your sugar daddy.  You don’t want to play too hard to get, but you don’t want to be completely at their mercy either. You need to prove that you are worth their time, and more importantly, their money.  Jean should’ve denied Marco’s hospitality.  He should’ve had a nice fuck, then caught a taxi home and left Marco with his number.  That’s usually how he got these guys.  What Jean can’t pay for in money, he sure as hell can pay for in sex.  Jean usually gets his prey in bed, shows them the night of their life, and then bails, expecting a call within a day or two.  That’s how this shit worked. 

 

            But…he didn’t want to leave. At all.  No matter how hard he tried to abide by his own internal set of successful gold digger rules, he found himself sucked in my Marco’s charm and ease of character.  This particular walking-wallet was fun, and charming, and good-natured beyond comprehension.  Jean was a little taken aback by how forthright and eager Marco was to spoil him, as he said last night.  If Jean were thinking with his brain and not his dick, he might’ve had some second thoughts about being so eager to accept all of Marco’s doting behavior, but honestly? He didn’t get any creepy vibes from him.  Not a one.  This guy was just…

 

            “Hey there,” Marco greeted Jean as he entered the kitchen.  He was wearing an apron and cooking what smelled like bacon and eggs. “Have a seat? There’s coffee for you at the table.”

 

            _This guy was just fucking perfection, okay??_

            “Are you seriously cooking me breakfast right now,” Jean had to chuckle.  He was floored.  Marco laughed as well.  Jean sat down and let this freckled piece of perfection dote on him.

 

            They chatted easily over breakfast, and Jean was hoping that the eggs would taste like shit or that Marco burned the bacon or that the coffee was weak or _something_ so he could make fun of him for it, but nope, the eggs and bacon were cooked splendidly, and the coffee was strong just like Jean liked it.  He decided to poke fun at him anyway for needing reading glasses, which the man was sporting again as he checked his iPad again while they ate.  Marco wasn’t quite as old as Jean had figured him to be, but he saw where he was confused.  This guy carried himself with wisdom well-beyond his years.  That and glasses just add like 5 fucking years to your face.

            When Marco was distracted by the contents of the screen, Jean found himself watching.  He paid attention to the way his eyes flitted around the screen as he read, and how he chewed each bite slowly and completely.  He paid attention to the way he left his shirt unbuttoned at his collarbones, and how he idly thumbed at the silver ring he wore on his left middle finger.  Everything about him was interesting to Jean, and needed to mind himself before Marco caught him staring. 

 

            Jean was falling for this guy quickly, and it made him nervous.

 

            “Okay, so dinner’s at 6:30.  I couldn’t get it any earlier, but that gives us plenty of time for shopping.”  Marco seemed pleased by the news.  Jean furrowed his brow.

            “Shopping?” Jean repeated.

            “I need new tennis-shoes, and a pair of swim shorts,” Marco said.  He then sniffed audibly, leaning closer to Jean a bit. “And probably some more of my Bvalgari shampoo.”  He grinned and Jean, who just shrugged shamelessly.

 

            “So I’m gonna be your bag boy today? Is that it?”  Jean asked, taking another bite of food. He was a little shocked that Marco was going to make him go shopping with him just to watch _him_ spend _his_ money.  How rude. 

            “Don’t be silly.  I’m only getting myself some things I need.  You, on the other hand,” Marco took off his glasses and gave Jean a dashing smile, “are getting anything your heart desires.”

            Jean put down his fork, feeling like he just got smacked in the face with guilt for even doubting that Marco was anything but generous.  He’s heard that line before.  A few times, actually.  But he’s never heard it delivered with such… _warmth._

“…anything?” Jean asked.  It was like he was 5 and his parents told him to pick any toy he wanted in the store.

            “Anything,” Marco affirmed, still smiling.

“You don’t… you don’t have to, you know. I was just kidding,” Jean tried to save himself from the embarrassment of acting so snarky earlier. 

            “That’s why you slept with me isn’t it?” Marco asked. He wasn’t being accusatory.  He was just speaking matter of factly.

            “Y-yeah, but—“

            “So, let me do my job as your sugar daddy and spoil you, okay Jean?”

 

            Jean then realized something.

 

            Marco’s definitely done this before.  He’s taken in a cute little street rat like Jean before.  He’s also clearly been played by him for all his good nature and affection.  That’s why he knew all the things to say.  Knew the way this shit worked.  Knew that someone like Jean would love to accompany him to expensive stores and fancy restaurants and spend money that he didn’t actually have because he’s had someone like this before.

            And he’s clearly been hurt by him. 

            “I didn’t just sleep with you for all that, Marco.” Jean scratched his cheek.  He couldn’t look Marco in the eye because he was caught red handed.  Even if he did have a change of heart, Marco knew how these situations worked.  “I-I mean yeah, that’s what I was after at first, cause… well you fucking know, I’m not gonna explain it. But…”

            “Whether you did or you didn’t, I like you, Jean.  And I want to keep you around as long as I can.  If spending a little money on you is what it takes to keep you around, well then you can bet I’ll spoil you rotten.”  He smiled again, and Jean felt his heart and stomach sink. 

            Jean NEVER feels bad for his sugar daddies.  They are rich assholes who have everything they want.  If anything’s wrong in their life, they can literally throw money at something and have their problems vanish.  They can hire a lawyer and have someone sued.  They can pay someone to keep quiet.  All of their problems can be solved with green pieces of paper.

            Yet here Jean was feeling like utter shit.  Like he just whipped a puppy.

            A rich, sexy, wonderful, smart, funny and classy puppy named Marco Bodt.

            Jean’s next words were spoken quietly.

            “I don’t want to play you that way, Marco.  You deserve better.”

            After a soft, heartfelt laugh, Marco just smiled at Jean and looked at him with an appreciative gaze. He then leaned across the table, kissing Jean once on the cheek.  Jean wanted to turn and kiss his lips, because just being in the proximity of that man’s face _does_ that to you but Marco pulled away before he could. _Damn it._

“Don’t think of it as you playing me, then.  Think of it as me saying thank you.”  Marco was still holding Jean’s cheek, tracing his thumb along jean’s jaw.  This gesture was going to ruin Jean if he didn’t stop soon.  Jean really wanted to know just what the fuck Marco was thanking him for.  He knew sex with him was pretty damn good, but not worth a sincere, heartfelt display of gratitude.  It was sort of freaking Jean out.

            “Quit overthinking it, Jean.  It’s no big deal.” Marco said, and stopped looking at Jean with that intense gaze.  Jean was able to breath again.

            Well, if it’s not big deal to him, then…

            “Okay.  You win.  I’ll let you spoil me. Just this once, though,” Jean clarified with authority.

            “Or maybe again next week,” Marco mused.

            Jean grinned with a blush.

            “And the week after that.” 

            “Marcooooo,” Jean whined.

            “And the week after _that._ ” Marco sang.  He wiped his mouth with his napkin, took a final sip of coffee and stood from his seat.  “You done eating?”         

            “Yeah.”

            Jean followed Marco to the front of the penthouse, grabbing their coats before they stepped out into the hallway.

            “Hey Jean,” Marco asked, searching for something in his coat pocket, “pick a color; red or white.”

            “Umm, red?” Jean cocked his head.

            Marco then revealed a car key from his pocket.

            “The Ferrari it is, then.” Marco gleamed, and Jean bit his lip, trying to hide a hideously stupid grin. 

 


	3. Equivalent Exchange? Well, Sort of...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More mindless luxury fluff. Idk how to plot, if you haven't noticed pfff. Shopping sprees and a little revisit to Marco's god-tier shower abound.... (upping the rating on this because of this chapter huehue)

Four weeks is long enough to decide you like someone a lot, right?  That’s…what, a month? Seems reasonable.

 

To tell you the truth, Jean felt like 24 hours was all he needed to decide he wanted to spend every moment with Marco.

 

Jean Kirschtein had been seeing Marco Bodt for a month now, and he didn’t realize just how quickly the time had zoomed by until he received some urgent phone calls from his landlord.  Jean’s usually on top of his rent, even if he can’t quite cover it all the way.  He at least gives some notice, but you know what they say, out of sight out of mind.

 

He hadn’t really been home since he started seeing Big B., as he affectionately called him.  Why would he go home when everything he could possibly want was at the affluent Mr. Bodt’s abode.  He wanted to watch tv? Why not lounge in the media room with the 80’ HD TV? He wanted to work out? He could swim a few laps in the infinity pool on the lower-level balcony overlooking Sunset Blvd.  Wanted to have a nice fuck with a gorgeous, stupidly sexy tanned man with adorable dumb freckles? He was here, too.

 

Jean didn’t even need to go home to grab a change of clothes. After the first shopping spree, Jean found he now owned ten new shirts, seven new pairs of pants, three new hats, a new watch (even though he hardly wore those things), and three new pairs of shoes.  

 

Sounds like your average shopping spree, but it wasn’t as if Marco had taken Jean to some campy mall and took him to fucking Macy’s or J.C. Penny’s or some basic shit like that. 

 

Nuh uh. 

 

Marco took Jean to the stores where you have to know the owner to get a dressing room.  Places where the price tags aren’t on any of the shirts because you can just expect the lowest price to be at least $300.   Marco took Jean to the stores where you walk in feeling like you’re a fantasy montage from a rich valley girl movie where the cutesy blonde tries on prom outfits on Rodeo Drive.

 

It was almost overbearing.  _Almost._

Not quite enough for Jean to say no, at any rate.

 

Jean wanted to deny this treatment. He wanted to assure Marco that he didn’t need $300 dollar shirts or the gold plated watches, or designer shoes. But let’s be real, you don’t deny a literally priceless shopping spree. Jean’s undisclosed love of brand names, couture fashion and high-status-life really made it impossible to say no, no matter how much he thought it was the right thing to do.

 

And to be fair, Marco honestly didn’t seem to mind.

 

The funny thing was, if Jean didn’t know any better, he would’ve guessed that Marco was doing everything in his power to ensure he was getting laid that night.  (It should go without saying that he did, indeed, get his just reward, but more on that story later.)  It probably looked that way to everybody else.  When Jean would hold up an item, inquisitively peaking at Marco with a pouted lip, and Marco just smiled and nodded, they would elicit a few glances from other shoppers. But fuck them. Jean didn’t care what these bozos thought.  He himself didn’t belong here, that was obvious, but he was justified with Marco as his side. So what if they could see. So what if they could tell that Jean couldn’t afford to even breathe the complimentary perfume testers they give out at these stores.  Marco was there with him, paying his way, and if other people wanted to think that he was just doing it to get laid, then so be it.  Jean knew the truth. The truth was, Marco spent his money on Jean because… well…

 

“You’re worth it,” he had said, smiling that sweeter-than honey grin.

 

Thousands of dollars and an entirely new wardrobe later, Jean whined something about needing sustenance, and Marco, bless him, already knew where they were going for lunch.  They exited the store, whose name was so snobby and obscure Jean didn’t even really bother memorizing it, each carrying a bag full of spoils.

 

“Do you mind walking? It’s just up two streets.” Marco asked.

 

“Um, you’re just gonna leave the car…?” Jean asked, quirking en eyebrow, but he soon realized how silly of a question that was.  They were in the richest part of town.  Why would anyone here break into a Ferrari when they could literally afford their own?

 

“She’ll live.  I need to move my legs a bit,” Marco reasoned with smile, placing a pair of black aviators on the bridge of his nose.  Jean was torn between missing the sight of freckles on his cheeks and adoring the look of sunglasses on Marco’s strong, masculine face. This guy went from being cute as a button to drop-dead sexy in a heartbeat. 

 

“But these are heeaavyyyy“ Jean whined, making a show of acting like his shopping bags were weighing him down. Marco laughed and rolled his eyes, less as a gesture of sass and more of a “this goofball is too much for me,” kind of thing.

 

“I gotta make you work for those bags you’re carrying, mister.  Come on.” Marco grinned, and hit Jean’s butt with one of the bags he was carrying. Jean laughed, not thinking his man-toy was capable of any form of sass.

 

“You’re saying what we did in the dressing room at Hugo Boss didn’t earn me all this?” Jean mused in a teasing voice, along with an eyebrow waggle.  Marco’s face flushed a bit, and damn it, Jean didn’t understand how someone could be so dripping with sultry sexiness at one moment, but then acting like a bashful teenager another. _Fuck,_ it was cute.

 

“Okay, maybe that earned you one of your pairs of sunglasses…” Now it was Jean’s turn to roll his eyes. He hip-checked Marco with a grin, and made sure to smile and lick his lips in a way that told Marco he would make sure to earn every last bit of the contents of his bags.

 

Later tonight.

 

Possibly in the infinity pool.

 

Awwww yeah~

 

After lunch at a spunky little French/American café, the two men carried on with their splurging until Jean started complaining of being tired of standing.  When they tried to fit everything into Marco’s Ferrari, it became obvious that this car was only designed to fit two people in it, and nothing more. The seats in the back were just to make it look like a whole car, if anything.  Marco told to Jean to grab his favorite items, the one’s he couldn’t go the rest of the week without, and would have the rest mailed to his penthouse. Jean honestly didn’t know how he was expected to choose between all of his new spoils, but Marco gently laughed and helped choose the more necessary items, if you could call any of the shit they bought today “necessary.”

 

Back at Big B.s’, Jean found it surprisingly comfortable to just…lounge with Marco.  They spoke for a short while, but the majority of the hours before dinner were spent on the living room couch, sitting quietly and comfortably. The sun was beginning to set, and the golden warmth radiated into the penthouse and turned all of the white décor a beautiful peach color. Marco had a record going, one Jean wasn’t familiar with, but it was relaxing and wordless.  It was like Marco knew how to always set the mood perfectly for whatever occasion. Jean sighed in appreciation, and leaned over to rest his head on Marco’s lap.

 

“Hey, Big. B.,” he asked, rubbing at his eye and yawning.

 

“What’s up, cutie?” Marco withdrew his reading glasses and smiled down at Jean.

 

“How come you’re so god damn perfect?” Jean asked, and even though Marco laughed jubilantly, Jean spoke with a straight tone. “I’m serious. I’m beginning to think you have a dark side, like you’re hiding shit from me or something.”

 

Marco’s laughing eased up, and his smile was tinged with a slight hint of sadness when he spoke next.

 

“I’m not perfect, Jean.  I’ve just… got a lot of love to give.”

 

“I find it fucking astounding that you’re single,” Jean said.  Marco was withdrawing mentally, it seemed.  Jean felt like being a pest and pressing the issue, but he bit his tongue. 

 

Marco took a few introspective moments before responding.

 

“Money can get you a lot of things, Jean, but it can’t buy you love.”

 

Jean just gaped up at Marco with wide, considerate eyes. 

 

These were the kinds of comments that made Jean really question if he was the worst asshole in the planet. This is what made him consider if Marco was really fine with everything they were doing, or if he was just a man too stuck in his ways to refrain from making the same tired mistakes.

 

Like spoiling someone rotten and then watching them leave him…

 

_No, not me. I’m no fucking rat. I’m better than that._

 

Jean wasn’t ready to say he loved Marco. Not by a long shot. But he felt for him. Deeply and sincerely. He reached his hands up to beckon Marco downward, and although the angle was awkward, Marco allowed it, and was pulled into Jean’s kiss.  He opted to remedy the mood with humor rather than gush. 

 

“Well I’m glad you know that, B. That means I don’t have to pretend to not want all your presents.”  He grinned up at Marco, and the crassness of his voice was harsh enough, he hoped, to earn a chuckle or two from the wealthy saint.

 

Marco did laugh, making a noise of false-hurt.

 

“Ouch, Jean.  At least _try_ and pretend you’re not after my money.” He was still smiling, and Jean was happy at that. He pulled that delicious man down for another kiss, this time opening his mouth a little and enclosing on Marco’s top lip, sucking juuust barely.  Enough to make Marco linger closely for a bit.

 

“Naw, for real though, Marco – you’re pretty awesome. I don’t usually stick around this long. Either I really like your money, or I really like you.”

 

Marco smiled awfully sincerely, his eyes locking with Jean’s, and Jean felt all of his defenses drop.

 

“I sure hope it’s the latter, then.” Marco nearly whispered, and kissed Jean one last time before sitting up right again.

 

There wasn’t much more to say after that. The mood was still quite lovely. Marco had begun lazily fingering through Jean’s bleached locks, and Jean felt his eyes getting heavy. With Big B.’s fingers scratching soothingly into Jean’s scalp, he quickly fell asleep. 

 

He didn’t wake up until there was a polite little voice rousing him gently, one that he’d heard before.

 

“Excuse me? Sir?” It was Marco’s housekeeper. Jean blinked slowly and yawned, hardly cognizant, but she kept speaking. “I’m sorry to wake you, but Marco asked me to let you know he will be taking you to dinner in 45 minutes.”

 

“Oh shit, that’s right,” Jean hissed through his teeth, suppressing a yawn.  He sat up to stretch.

 

“I pressed one of your suits for you, as well. I’m sure you’ll look dashing tonight,” she almost giggled, and Jean had to blink some more. If she wasn’t the cutest little goddess of a housekeeper he had ever seen then he didn’t know who was.

 

“Wow already?  You’re incredible.”

 

She merely smiled, folding her hands behind her dress.

 

“Would you like some tea? I’m preparing some for Marco.”

 

“No, no I’m good.  Um where is…” Jean leaned to peer around the tiny frame before him.

 

“He’s having a shower.  He um… he said feel free to disturb him, ha.” Christa blushed, scratching her cheek and looking away, and Jean’s eyebrows raised significantly with a smirk.

 

“Oh… well then.”  Jean got up from the couch, and Christa backed away to make room for him.

 

“I’ll leave your suit outside the door. If you need anything, just call downstairs.”  She curtsied, and turned to leave, but spun around quickly to blurt, “oh! And my name is Christa!” She curtsied again, and scuttled off.  She seemed flustered, but good-natured nonetheless.  Wow, what a peach. 

 

As Jean ambled up stairs, he found himself laughing internally.  For some reason the fact that Marco had a house keeper that was so innocent and sweet but with whom he was so…open with about his personal proclivities just seemed a little cruel in a funny sort of way. 

 

When Jean entered the bathroom, he went from silently giggling to silently screaming.

 

He wasn’t quite used to seeing Marco naked yet. And he _definitely_ wasn’t used to seeing him with steaming water dripping down his chest and abs, his wet hair pushed out of his face and appetizing droplets dripping from his perfect, squared jaw and down to his chin.

 

He felt his mouth go dry.  Jean was suddenly very thirsty. 

 

Thirsty for water.

 

Water that was running down Marco’s bronze, freckled bodied, along his chest, downs his hips and between his thighs, onto his thick, delicious—

 

“Jean,” Marco called, “I didn’t know you came in.” He turned away, and Jean now knew what the 8th wonder of the world was.

 

It was Marco Bodt’s hella fine ass glistening behind shower glass.

 

“Yeah I um, haha – well… em…” Jean wasn’t even sure what he was doing.  Talking? Grunting? Laughing? Trying to think? It was all for naught.

 

“I know you showered earlier, but you’re welcome to join me.”  Marco turned to offer Jean a wry smile, and without a fucking second of hesitation, Jean was stripping down and crossing over to the shower door.

 

“That’s okay.  I’m filthy.  Utterly filthy.” Jean assured once he found his words, and Marco laughed as he stepped aside to make room for him.

 

“Mmm… Let’s get you clean, then…”

 

There it was.  Jean’s new, most favorite sound in the world.  The sound of Marco-Fucking-Bodt sex-talking him. If this little… _whatever-you-call-it_ … “fling” they had together was going to continue, he was going to have to make Marco to just dirty talk him to completion one night.  Or several.

 

Jean licked his lips before hungrily mouthing at Marco’s, grabbing hold of his hips to move him closer.  There was a strange friction where Marco’s slick, wet skin met with Jean’s still-dry skin.  That issue was remedied within moments.  As they undulated against one another, Jean was properly soaked. Marco hummed thankfully into Jean’s mouth, bringing his hands up to cup Jean’s face as they kissed.

 

Breathing while making out is a bit of a nuisance on its own, but trying to suck down air when you’re wildly turned on and have steaming hot water pouring down your face is a fucking _challenge._ Jean wasn’t dissuaded, though. Not when his sugardaddy tasted so sweet, and his dick felt so excellent slipping against his own as they pressed together. Jean was already hardening quickly.

 

Marco pulled away reluctantly. While trying to maintain their kiss, he searched for something behind him. When Marco’s hands returned, they were slippery with what Jean could only assume was soap of some sort. It had a neutral fragrance vaguely reminiscent of white musk.

 

Whenever Marco pulled away, it was to breathe. Whenever Jean pulled away, it was to bore his eyes into him, hungrily begging him for sex.  He gazed longingly into Marco’s eyes, which, sappy as it was, was the only way he could describe it.  He needed Marco’s lips.  He needed his touch. He needed his dick.

 

He needed _him._

 

Marco held on to Jean’s hips firmly, massaging his thumbs cruelly along the creases that made a pathway to his cock, avoiding the actual destination.  Jean needed friction, and Marco refused it with a knowing smile.  Jean bit Marco’s lip in retaliation, and the growl he elicited made his cock twitch in urgency.

 

“What’s the matter, baby,” Marco asked, and the way he said it made Jean furiously hot.  He knew damn fucking well what was the matter.

 

“Nnngg… Marco…Marco god damn it…” Jean grunted, rolling his hips forward. The head of his dick brushed against Marco’s thigh, _just_ out of reach, and Marco planted another kiss onto Jean’s mouth to get him to stop being so grumpy.

 

“Want me to touch you? That it?” The taller man cooed, and Jean buried his face into the crook of Marco’s neck with a frustrated moan.  Marco slipped his hands around his sides and onto Jean’s ass, squeezing tight to press their bodies close again.  Sure, the friction was back, but Marco was being such a fucking tease.  Jean was afraid he going to start begging.  And now that he was toying with his ass, Jean had the sinking feeling that that was exactly what his sugardaddy was aiming for.

 

“Fuck, Marco…” Jean dug his nails into Marco’s back, withholding as much desperation as he could, and the taller man had to suck in a breath of air at that. 

 

Before Jean was reduced to pitiful whining, Marco showed mercy.  He slowly brought his hand back to the space between them, brushing sweetly against Jean’s balls before giving a long, slow, pull along his length.  Jean gave a hitched moan, and had to grab Marco’s shoulder to steady himself.  Marco kept his strokes slow and firm, and that was fine.  Jean was fine. He was going to be all right. The soap on Marco’s hands let him glide perfectly along Jean’s dick, and frankly that was all he needed in this very moment.

 

But then Marco upped the ante, sucking at Jean’s neck leave a red spot of affection.  Of claim. Of dominance.

 

“Ha- ahh!!” Jean gasped when Marco got his teeth involved. 

 

Jean was Marco’s.  If all of the money Marco had spent on him today was any indicator of how much he deserved to do whatever he wanted with Jean, then Marco practically owned the guy.  Ten times over.

            And the next thing he did really proved that to be true.

            With Jean still moaning, his dick in Marco’s soft, strong hand, his balls in the other, and Marco’s supple lips pressing against his neck, Marco pressed against Jean’s ear and whispered.

            “Now that you’re good and desperate, I think we’ll pause here…” he licked at one of the plugs in Jean’s ear, and to Jean’s horror, stopped stroking him and pulled away with a smile.  A wicked smile, at that.

            “…y-you have got to be fucking kidding me,” Jean breathed, biting a lip. Marco shook his head and kissed Jean’s nose.

            “You napped too long, sleepy-head.  We’ll miss our reservation if we do anything.”  Marco spoke as if he were being reasonable.  Jean on the other hand, felt betrayed.  And still very horny.  And utterly furious.

            “Don’t you cock-tease me and then go about your merry way, Bodt. You’re killing me, here!”

            “Perfect,” Marco grinned, and for the first time Jean growled at the sight of that devilishly perfect smile. “That means you’ll be thinking about my hands on your cock all night, then.”

            Fuck, he had a point…

            “Fuckin tease, I swear to god…” Jean’s anger was dissipating with the vapor of the shower.  Marco laughed as Jean seethed, and once soap had washed off, he shut off the shower and grinned down at Jean.

            “Don’t be angry, cutie.  Just think about how good it’ll feel when I finally _plow_ into you later,” Marco practically sang, and Jean’s cock twitched when the promise of plowing was mentioned.  Jean chewed at his lip and whined, a throaty, slutty whine, and he felt a small sense of satisfaction when he realized Marco was quite hard himself, and probably was dying just as much as he was. 

            “We gotta go,” Marco announced, and hopped out of the shower after pecking Jean lightly on the nose. He was suddenly much less angry and much more excited when he realized he’d get to see Marco in a suit again this evening.  AND he’d be debuting his own suit.  How fuckin classy. Jean was quick to anger, but he was also quick to move on. 

            Marco was right, though.  Jean was going to be on edge all night, thinking about wet, slippery hands riding all over his body, and strong soft lips pressing kisses into his neck and chest. _Fuck_ he needed to hold out. It would be worth it.

 

            Jean hopped out of the shower and followed Marco to the bedroom, and he was filled with unflagging ambition.

 

_I’m gonna make him pay for being such a fucking tease._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO I chickened out of the sex because a) teasing without completion is a kink of mine whoops and b) KENJI WROTE AMAZING SHOWER SEX BEFORE I COULD FINISH MINE SOOOOO I figured I'll go for something else in a different chapter. 
> 
> Here is kenji's hella shower sex if you're feeling cheated (nd just read it anyway because it's fuckin amazing)
> 
> (http://thisismouseface.tumblr.com/post/79144107618/heaven-help-me-i-think-i-wrote-a-fanfic-of-a-fanfic)


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